


Heartaches, Little Perks (we'll find a way to make this work)

by Armajesty (hinatella)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Polyamory, dorky babies in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-26 16:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2659418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hinatella/pseuds/Armajesty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They’re moving into an apartment together, one that’s tiny and messy and a little broken in places, filled with uncertainties, insecurities, and doubts, but they’ll patch things up in time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heartaches, Little Perks (we'll find a way to make this work)

**Author's Note:**

> click the ✖ at the start of the last scene for mood setting music.

_Finally_ , Armin thinks as the moving truck pulls away from side of the street and starts down the road. He frowns as his eyes scan over the bits of furniture still laying out in the lobby, about two-thirds of it scattered in a disorganized mess in one corner. The movers didn't bother lugging the items up eight flights of stairs, didn't even think to use the elevators. Jean was very adamant about not paying them at _all_ let alone a small tip, but Armin convinced him to because it's probably a stressful job and, hey, they didn't absolutely destroy anything anyway.

The doorman sitting at the front desk pops bubble gum in an obnoxiously, superfluously loud way and has the audacity to rush them while they're going as fast as they can with no added help. It's just Eren and Jean; Armin is forced to act as supervisor and he feels kind of useless standing on the sidelines and watching the other two dangerously haul large boxes into the elevator and bulky furniture up the stairs.

Eren has this bright idea to sit Armin on a spare stool—a rickety, broken one with wobbly legs but Eren is attached to the thing and reluctant to throw it out—and like all of his bright ideas this one sounds nice in theory but fails _badly_ in execution. Jean is all against it until Armin nudges his side and goads him with baby blue eyes that Armin _knows_ he has a difficult time resisting.

It isn't a _complete_ disaster. With Eren clinging tightly to the seat of the wood and one of the horizontal wooden rods, and Jean holding onto the other in anticipation, Armin hops onto the stool and grasps their shoulders and feels that drop in his stomach as he's suddenly shot up in the air in one shake movement. He yelps and laughs, doubling over to push his center of gravity forward to keep from falling backwards.

The stairs aren't an option, not while Armin's seated precariously on tattered wood in the hands of two people he trusts not to purposely let him fall but doesn't believe can make it up eight flights. So they ride the elevator just like that, and Armin sheepishly admits that he feels like royalty. All he's missing is the cardboard cut-out crayon-colored crown.

"This is ridiculous," Jean grumbles. Armin nods his head in agreement, but with a careful smile that gives away his childish enjoyment.

"You're ridiculous," Eren replies. "Pick up the weight, man. Armin's gonna fall off."

"This elevator is taking fucking forever to get to our floor."

"I'm fine, you know. I didn't sprain ankle," Armin says, but it falls on deaf ears as the elevator door opens and all three pile out, parading in slow motion down the hall to their shared apartment. Armin lightly taps the door open with his foot.

They set him down at gentle as they can. Armin would have toppled over if his hands weren't holding onto their shoulders for dear life. He looks around the cluttered interior of the apartment. It's the first time he's seeing the place with something in it, instead of the hollowed-out damp space it was two weeks ago. It isn't the best of places, with creaky floors and hideous old floral wallpaper and leaky pipes steadily dripping in the background. There's a ton of work to do, but it's _theirs_ , finally _theirs_ and the thought has Armin smiling despite himself.

"We're going to get the rest of the stuff," Jean says, breaking him out of his split second revere.

"Let me help," Armin says insistently. It's the third time he's asked since they began and he doesn't expect the answer to be any different. But he really does want to help so he doesn't stop trying. "It's only a sprained _finger_ and you guys are acting like I broke a bone." He wiggles his left index in the air, all wrapped up in a tiny case—courtesy of Jean—with three crudely drawn stick figures surrounded by a sappy, crooked little heart—courtesy of Eren.

"You should rest up anyway. Here, sit down," Jean leads him to a single seat couch and he sinks right into the too soft material, "and I'll get you something to read while we're working." He walks over to the box conveniently labeled _books_ , opens the flap, and frowns. "Eren."

"Yeah?" Eren calls and, a second later, his head pops out from the kitchen archway, crumbs sticking to the corners of his mouth.

"You packed the books right?" Jean looks at him like he's daring Eren to say otherwise.

"Yeah...?"

"Dumbass. You put the goddamn plates and silverware in here. We _threw_ this box down. I can see shards of glass on the bottom."

"Oh," is all Eren offers.

So they set out to grab the box labelled plates and silverware where the actual books are contained and Armin salvages as much of the still-intact plates as he can, pouting his lips when he finds that one of his favorites suffered a crack straight through the porcelain material. A total of three plates survived the aftermath. He's bombarded with a string _fuck_ ’s and _I'm sorry_ ’s from Eren and waves them all off. In all honestly, they rarely used the plates. There was no reason to with takeout boxes and plastic bowls and microwave meals that comes with trays.

He reclines on the couch and opens to a page of his Animal Health and Nutrition book where yellow-green highlights fill and soak the pages in notes and things to remember. Studying for that test he has in three days is the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself through it anyway because it's one of only three exams in that particular class and he can't afford to fail. He looks up periodically at the sound of crashes and thumps and curses from both boys, stifles a laugh when Jean pouts like an obstinate child and sticks his nose in his book when the laughter escapes in the form of an embarrassing snort that catches their attention.

It takes forty-five minutes to get everything else up. The sun is already halfway through setting once the front door is shut for the final time that night, painting the sky in warm late summer hues that Armin knows Eren loves (he has a whole album full of scenic pictures of the setting summer sun). He picks himself up from the couch, stretches out his stiff limbs.

"Are you guys up for instant noodles or delivery?" Armin asks when he ambles into the kitchen to find Eren rummaging through the fridge as though there's something beside the low quality shelving and frost sticking to the insides in there. Jean is sitting at the table pushed against one wall, frowning so deeply Armin can feel his disappointment seep into the air. He rolls his eyes. "We can't afford anything else right now."

"I swear once I get that promotion I'm banning anything instant and microwaveable. That shit is disgusting."

"Yeah, well, that won't be for another three months. Better suck it up for now," Eren says. He reaches into a cabinet, pulls out three Cup Noodles and motions Armin over to help.

"How's your finger?"

"It's _fine_ , Jesus." Armin wants to be annoyed, but the genuine concern laced in Eren's voice and eyes makes him smile because it's a little cute.

Eren takes the hand with the injured finger and brings it up to eye level in this delicate way, like his hand is actually made of the porcelain of their broken plates and not flesh and blood. "Are you sure? Let me kiss it better."

" _Eren_ , you did that like ten minutes in the last 24 hours. You’re going to make it worse ‘cause you’re bothering it so much,” he warns.

"I don't care," Eren says, bringing his lips up to the makeshift case. Armin squirms, bites his bottom lip hard to keep from smiling and shoves Eren away to start on the noodles.

"Ugh. Get a room," Jean mutters a second too late. His face is down and hidden out of place, resting in his crossed arms.

Armin looks over him for a second, asks, "Are you okay?" and Jean only mumbles something along the lines of _tired_. And it's like the word triggers the sleepy exhaustion in himself too. He remembers that he's been up all day, has classes early the next morning and should probably head to bed soon.

Eren does most of the talking while they eat, huddling close together with knees knocking together and toes brushing up against each other underneath the table. The thin piece of furniture is meant to sit two, maybe two a half people with a tight enough fit, but they make it work anyway. Armin is only partly listening to Eren talk about his outlandish suggestions for ways they can fix the place up. His attention is mostly on Jean and how uncharacteristically silent he is, how distracted he seems to be as he chews through his food at snail's pace.

"What do you think, Arm?"

His head snaps over to Eren. "Huh—what?"

"You okay? You see tired. You should go to bed." Eren tips his head forward to get an unobstructed view of Jean. "You too."

"Yeah," Armin drawls with a yawn. "I'm going." He puts his plate away and returns to give quick pecks on the cheek to Jean—who grunts unintelligibly—and to Eren—who smiles that usual, wide smile of his and places a gross, sloppy kiss to his cheek in return.

"Ew."

"Love you too."

Armin's eyes linger towards Jean drifting over his unfinished bowl before he leaves and gets ready for bed. He slips into something light and comfortable and falls asleep to mixed sound of Eren's whispers and Jean's low hums slipping lazily through the crack underneath the bedroom door.

✂

 It's the same thing every morning. In his half asleep state, Armin rolls out of the mass of blankets he always manages to get himself wrapped in at night. But Eren's arms makes the task that much more difficult; he has a ridiculous vice-like grip, even in his sleep, and holds Armin like a plush teddy bear to his chest. It takes coaxing and grabbing fingers to get Eren to let go. The sound of the stove going and plates clinking together lure him out of bed and has him dragging his feet with bleary eyes towards the kitchen.

Jean is there, work clothes already on and spatula in hand. The smell of cooking pancake mix and scrambled eggs fill the air. Armin nearly trips over an open box of silverware—acting as a temporary drawer until they can be bother to properly put anything away—on his way over.

"Careful," Jean says, looking over his shoulder. "You don't want to break anything else."

Armin mutters, "I didn't break—" a yawns cuts him off, and he's too tired to continue. He just walks behind Jean and stands there until Jean sighs, turns around, and kisses the top of his head.

Jean turns back to the stove, flips a pancake expertly in the air like it's all second nature to him. "You're definitely going to help with the renovations right? I'm gonna try and buy paint and tarp next weekend."

"Mm," is all Armin says. He's so useless in the mornings without coffee in his system and he pouts his lips when he doesn't see the coffee machine on the counter, hooked in, with its dark contents dripping into a mug. "Where's the coffee?"

"Oh, shit, sorry. It's in one of the boxes still. I can go and look for it if you want."

"No, it's fine. I'll just pick one up at Dunkin' Donuts."

"Alright."

With a tired yawn, Armin sits himself at the tiny dining room table. Jean brings over two plates piled high with pancakes and eggs on the side. The smell wakes Armin up a little; he doesn't wait for it to cool down, drenching the pancakes in maple syrup until it's nothing but a shiny, liquidy mess and forking a whole thing of one part pancake, three parts calories into his mouth. Jean fakes a gag as he watches. He finds it ironic that Armin, a _med_ student, has so little disregard for the amount of sugary sweet things he intakes.

"I'm probably gonna be home late so don't wait up on me," Jean says a few minutes later when Armin slows down enough to actually breath in between bites. It sounds absent-minded as the words leaves his mouth, almost as if he didn't mean to speak them aloud.

Armin nods at this, feels a little guilty because of how _tired_ Jean looks. He's working hard for three people—Armin doesn't have the time to work in between school and interning at a lab, and Eren's freelance job is sporadic and unreliable. The early mornings and late nights are starting to take its toll in the form of perpetual dark circles that makes home underneath Jean's hazel-brown eyes, right against the canvas of his pasty skin. Armin wants to reach out and touch, rub, stroke the fatigue away, press his lips to his skin in silent gratitude. And he almost does, but Jean catches sight of the digital clock over the stove and stands to his feet before Armin can make any sort of move.

"Gotta go," he says, and kisses the top of Armin's head again. He lingers this time, with his hand falling to Armin’s shoulder and the breath of his nose tickling Armin’s scalp. When he pulls away, he leave an odd, bittersweet feeling behind. "See you later."

 

When Armin gets home ( _home_ , the word makes him smile again as he pushes the key through the hole) the sun has nearly gone over the horizon with its last rays peeking over the edge like it's reluctant to go, like it wants to shine its light down and prolong the sticky late summer heat. Armin half expects Jean to be on the couch in front of the TV, but Eren's there instead, flipping through the standard cable channels mostly filled with gray static and blurred faces.

"We need to get cable. Actual cable. Nothing works and everything’s boring as hell," Eren grouses as soon as Armin walks through the door.

"That's the last thing we need to worry about. Just use your laptop,” Armin responds, throwing his lab coat over the armrest.

"It's acting weird, remember? I need to get it repaired or something."

Armin shakes his head disapprovingly as he stalks over to the couch. "You said you'd do that _two weeks ago_." Once he's within arm’s reach, Eren's hands immediately latch onto either side of his waist and bring him down into his lap. It amazes Armin how unaware Eren seems to be of his affectionate tendencies—always reaching out to grab a hold of something soft and warm and familiar. He's an attention-seeking missile and Armin finds it so very endearing.

Eren hums, and Armin can't see his face in his position but he's sure Eren has his thick, bushy eyebrows draw together. "Tight on money. I have a job coming up this week though."

The first job Eren's had all month and the month is already almost over. Armin doesn't bring up the fact that those job offers promising decent pay and steady work in the next state over is collecting dust in his inbox. Probably rotting away in the trash tab right now. The topic has been brought up three million times already by both Jean and himself, and Eren gets upset every time like he's in a constant struggle with himself that translates to furrowed eyebrows and deep scowls and misplaced biting words.

_If I have to leave, I'm taking you guys with me,_ Eren always says.

The whole topic makes Armin's throat close up in underlying guilt—because maybe they're not right for each other if holding on means throwing away ambitions and dreams—that consumes his mind every now and again, when he's alone and has the time to stop and breathe and think about how good things are how badly it can shatter in all its unconventional pieces. Deep down he knows Eren would call him stupid for thinking something so absurd. He opens his mouth to say something, ask for validation for the sudden plaguing thoughts.

"Do you think there's something wrong with Jean?" Armin asks instead. Maybe that's the validation he needs, because Jean's acting distant, has been for a while, and the perfect image is getting clouded in an unsure mist.

"He's just tired, isn't he?" Eren answers. The lilt in his voice doesn't mask the fact that he's unsure, too.

"Do you think that's all that's wrong?"

He exhales through his nose. The hot air caresses Armin's neck where the tip of his nose brushes against Armin's skin. "I don't know. He's acting all sulky and detached and weird, and he won't tell me anything. He's been that way since we started talking about this, have you noticed?"

It's hard not to; Jean is amazingly unsubtle, especially when he _tries_ to be. "If he were upset, he'd tell us, right?"

"Not if he's being stubborn and wants to go at it alone. Whatever the hell _it_ is."

"Mm, yeah." Armin feels he knows that fact better than anyone because Eren is the same way, only, unlike Jean, Eren willingly asks for help sometimes.

White noise from the open TV acts as a background soundtrack to his contemplations, empty speculations and his barely there conclusions about the whole thing, but it's hard to think with Eren suddenly mouthing the back of his neck and slyly sliding his hands over his jean-clad thighs.

Armin slaps a hand away and turns in Eren's lap, shoving halfheartedly at his shoulders. "Eren, I can't right now. I have a ton of work and need to start now if I want to get enough sleep tonight."

"Sleep is for losers."

"Says the loser who hibernates for twelve hours on any given day," Armin teases, smirking at the way Eren frowns.

"You're hanging around Jean too much."

"Yeah, well, I'm kind of stuck with him." He stands, raises his arms high above his head in an arching stretch, then bends down and pecks Eren's lips. "And you." As an afterthought, he adds, "Unfortunately."

"Screw you."

✂

This has only been going on for a solid six months and they're attached three-way to the hip like they've been together for centuries. It's one of those _where have you been all my life_ scenarios, where Armin can hardly recall what life was like before the awkward, clumsy confessions, the slow, pleasant transition in which clothes that aren't their own make their into closets and drawers and laundry baskets, in which two extra toothbrushes are needs just in case, in which the nights alternated between a singular body to three whole forms taking up the small spaces of a narrow bed, tangled limbs and heavy snores and all. What ever happened before the night talks of idealistic dreams and lingering insecurities?

Armin has to try so _hard_ to remember sometimes because this feels normal, this feels familiar, this feels so _natural_.

On days like this, when Jean leaves for work and Eren has a job at the same time and Armin's all alone, he likes to slip into his boyfriends' clothes and revel in the loose-fitting material that smells like the lemony detergent they use, the overpowering drug store cologne Jean likes to wear sometimes, the earthy body wash that Eren uses to shower— _Tropics & Showers_ is the name of the scent—and he grabs a blanket to wrap himself in and encase the familiarity in a little linen cave.

He doesn't have classes that day and most of the boxes have been unpacked, so he lies down on the couch and flips through the limited, uninteresting channels until he falls asleep. When he wakes up, it’s to multiple texts. There's one from Jean, sent thirty minutes ago, stating he'll be coming home late again, but he's bringing leftovers from the kitchen since he'll be the last one there. The thought of professionally prepared food makes Armin remember that he hasn't eaten since early that morning and the clock on his phone reads three-thirty.

There's one from Mikasa, saying she'll be coming over soon. Armin doesn't bother with a confirmation text when she's probably going to be there any minute now. Then there's the texts from Eren that reads,

_‘job is long n boring kill me now_   
_the subject isnt even that great_   
_boring ass concrete buildings’_

Armin smiles, getting up off the couch and heading towards the kitchen with his eyes focusing on the screen and his fingers typing out a reply.

_‘aren't you supposed to find the beauty in everything?’_

He opens the fridge, finds already opened boxes of takeout and cartons of eggs, and immediately goes for the box of fried rice because he doesn't trust himself with the stove. It's a known fact that he’s useless in the kitchen. His phone buzzes in his hand as he places the box in the microwave.

_‘not in boring ass concrete buildings’_

The doorbell rings just as Armin reads the last word. He strolls to the door in his slightly disheveled state and opens it to find Mikasa standing there, looking primped and polished in her casualwear and completely shaming Armin’s messy attire. She's holding plastic bags of mystery in her hands.

"Hey," she says, scrutinizing Armin up and down. "Nice clothes."

Armin looks down at himself and remembers that he's wearing Eren's baggy t-shirt and Jean's bright green boxers. He blushes a little, bites his bottom lip, glances back at Mikasa and notices the little amused smirk tilting the corners of her red lips. "Um."

"Can I come in?" She holds up the bags in her hands, wiggling them enticingly. "I bought housewarming gifts."

Nodding his head, Armin holds the door open for her. "You don't even have to ask."

_‘i'd rather take pics of u & jean all day. wanna pin them all up n fill the walls of our apartment w/ them,’_ comes the next text. Armin smiles widely at that. It's so incredibly cheesy, so like Eren. He wholeheartedly believes Eren will actually make that idea a reality now that it's come to mind.

_‘good luck getting jean to pose in that many photos.’_ Because they both know how annoyingly obstinate Jean gets about obsessive picture taking. He never misses an opportunity to complain about it when Eren breaks out his professional camera—Canon with a bunch of letters and series numbers Armin never remembers—for something unrelated to work.

Eren replies, _‘dw i'll find a way’_ , and the same time Armin sends, _‘jean says he'll be late coming home again.’_ He puts his phone down in favor of placing his attention to Mikasa, who's rummaging through something in the kitchen. When he enters, he finds her stacking plates onto the counter—new plates with shiny plastic material that almost looks like colored glass. A safer alternative to the ones loss during the move. Either Mikasa has creepy good sixth sense or someone told her about the broken plates Jean and Eren accidentally shattered.

"You didn't have to buy those. We were going to, eventually," Armin says, standing next to her and inspecting the new items just to make sure they were actually made of processed plastic material. "They're really nice, though. Thank you."

"It's fine. I doubt you guys are prioritizing buying new plates, anyway. Oh," she removes a large box from one of the bags. A mixer. Armin furrows his eyebrows in confusion. He's even more nonplussed as she unveils boxes of cake mix from another bag. "I bought these for you because I know you like sweets and you said you wanted to try baking once."

"Mikasa—you— _what_?" He was half-joking when he mentioned that; the way Jean talked about baking and food in general like it was an art to be treasured yet shared with the whole world made Armin want to try. He isn’t entirely sure if he wants to see that light-hearted desire through. But with Mikasa standing there, gray-ish eyes staring with expectance and underlying elusive excitement, he doesn't have much of a choice. "But you didn't have to—"

"If you're worried about money, don't be. The cake mix wasn't that expensive and the mixer was just a gift from last Christmas I never used."

"Oh," Armin says, glancing over the boxes a second time in a sort of dazed amazement. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Mikasa answers, allows a smile to curve her lips, and holds her arms.

Armin smiles back and steps into the warm embrace. Mikasa rests her chin on his head, squeezes him tightly, then lets go.

When she leaves a little while later, Armin lounges on the chair, balancing a huge textbook on one crossed leg and the warmed up box of fried rice on the knee of the other. He picks up his phone again to find multiple messages from Eren in all their ungrammatically endearing glory.

_‘yah i know. says other kitchen hand was out so he has to close up tonight_   
_busy day is kickin his ass_   
_he needs a break he looks like actual death_   
_poor bby :c’_

Eren's right; Jean does look like the walking dead, only without the actual death. The bags and dark circles underneath his eyes are running so deep now, his lanky limbs are stiff with the ache he’s trying to hide, his whole disposition is taking a toll and he just needs a _break_.

Armin sits upright, nearly knocking his fried rice over in the process.

_‘i have an idea.’_

Eren texts back almost immediately. Armin wonders if he's done with work and is heading home soon.

_‘what are u planning.’_

_‘nothing big, but jean isn't going to like it at first.’_

Armin grins to himself as he puts his phone away to actually concentrate on reading a chapter of his Animal Science textbook. It's nothing big, but it’s all he can do and he sincerely hopes it helps, even if for a single day.

✂ 

[[✖](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRqC11laCHI)]

At eight o'clock Eren is sprawled out on his stomach on the bed and Armin is right next him, sidled up against his side as they watch a movie on Eren's newly repaired laptop. Eren keeps commenting whenever anything interesting happens and starts up small conversations when the characters are only speaking because those parts are monotonous to him. Armin doesn't mind; he's seen the movie three times already.

It's at the climax with both of them on the edge of their proverbial seats when the front door slams shut all of a sudden. Eren pauses the movie as Armin slides off the bed to investigate.

Standing in the middle of the living room, pacing frantically back and forth like a battery powered madman and pulling at his two-toned locks through his white hat is Jean. Eren goes up to him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. The action gets Jean to stop and look up with wide-eyed confusion at first, then with a misplaced settled look that doesn't quite fit right on his face.

"You're home early. What's going on?"

The frustrating is back on his face, like it never really left, just laid in waiting for a trigger to set it off again.

"Some _fucker_ slipped on the wet floor and dropped a pot of soup and pinned it on me. I put a fucking wet floor sign down. I was just doing my goddamn _job_ but—"

"Jean," Armin interjects, reaching up to slide his hat off his head and set it down. Then he takes Jean's hand in his, looks him in the eyes and says, "It's not your fault. It's okay."

"Yeah, what Armin said," Eren eloquently adds.

Jean goes on like he was never stopped to begin with. "It's not fair that I have to be sent home early for that stupid clusterfuck like it's my fault they chose not to fucking read. I'm—" He stops to rub little circles into his temples with the pads of his thumb. "Forget it."

"No, you're not starting that shit again," Eren says, frown creasing his face into an unpleasant scowl, but the concern is still there, laced in the little flecks of green in his eyes.

"Start _what_?" Jean snaps. It's obvious how tense Jean is, rigid in his posture and tight around edges.

Eren makes momentary eye contact with Armin; Armin doesn't know what he expects from him but he looks expectant, exasperated.

"C'mere, Jean." Eren wraps a hands around one of his wrists, tugs him into the bedroom that's still bare of any personality save for the god awful wallpaper that still needs to be changed.

Armin moves onto the bed first, then Eren follows. Jean is a little more hesitant, looking unsure of himself as he stands at the foot of the bed like a small animal aware of the trap he's about to walk into, but he has no other options.

"We're gonna have a little therapy session and you're gonna talk about your feelings and shit because this is getting ridiculous and you know I can't read your mind," Eren announces, all in one breath. "So get your ass over here. Use Arm's lap as a pillow." He pats Armin's leg gently.

Armin thinks he gets it now and he plays along, gesturing with his finger to coax Jean. He gives in, sinking one knee and then the other into the mattress, leaning on one elbow and one hand slowly until he's laying back on the pale softness of Armin's lap, staring up at the white, blank ceiling littered in small arbitrary bumps. Armin starts running his fingers through Jean's short blond hair, dragging his nails over his brunet undercut in the way he knows Jean likes it, in the way that gets him to relax and hum low in his throat.

When he feels Jean is lax enough, Armin says, "You know you can talk to us, right, Jean? You don't have to deal with things on your own. You have two people here with you."

Eren is tracing patterns into his wrist now in a hypnotizing motion. "Armin's really worried. And I'm worried too," Armin smiles at that, at how embarrassed Eren looks admitting it. Jean doesn't seem to notice, too engrossed in the comforting touch of Armin’s cold fingers and Eren’s warm ones. "So talk to us."

Clearing his throat, Armin asks the most doctor-like voice he can muster. "Tell us what's been bothering you."

Jean groans. "This is _so_ dumb."

"We're going to sit here and stare you down if we have to," Armin says.

Eren tugs on his hand to capture his attention. "Jean, please," he begs, his voice soft with concern.

"Okay, God, no. Okay. I don't even know how to start." He purses his lips pensively, looks ahead at the opposite wall. " _I'm_ worried."

"About?" Armin urges.

"About whether this whole thing is gonna work out."

"You mean us?" Eren quickly asks.

"No, no. We're perfect. I mean the whole moving in together thing."

"You don't wanna live with us?"

"Jesus fuck, Eren, slow down. Let me finish a thought." Armin laughs as Eren mutters a little sorry. Jean continues, "I do want to live with you guys. It's all I've wanted for a while now and we're here now and it's great, really. But I roomed with someone before this and besides the fact that he paid half the rent, we had our cost discounted 'cause we were students. And I was happy when you guys suggested just moving in together instead of doing that whole back and forth thing. I was all for it."

In the little pause Jean takes to lock eyes with him and Eren, Armin starts his fingers moving again. Jean closes his eyes, sighs, and continues on.

"But I'm worried. I'm not shaming you guys or anything; that's the last thing I want to do. It's great that you're continuing at vet school, Ar, I could never sit in school for that long. And it's cool that you're taking photos for a living, Eren. And I just really want to support us and I want this to work and I took extra shifts just so I can get us through to the first rent. I'm not even sure how I'm going to _survive_ the rest. That mistake I made could end up setting back my promotion another month, too, _fuck_ —"

Armin stops his ministrations on Jean's hair, stops Jean talking altogether because his mouth is running faster than his brain can catch up and it's becoming a jumbled, emotional mess of words. Jean's golden eyes seem to shiny in the low light of the room when he opens them again and it takes a moment for Armin to realize that Jean's near tears, caused by the stress of built-up consternations and worries that run far deeper than what he's letting on. He places his hands on Jean's shoulders, rubs the soles of his palms into the tenseness, massages it away.

"Jean," Armin says, "It's going to be okay. We'll make it work no matter what, I swear."

Eren sinks down onto the bed until he's level with Jean, fitting his head in the space between Jean's head and Armin's stomach. His unruly hair tickles Armin’s thighs as he shifts his head around to face Jean. Armin doesn't mind the heaviness resting in his lap, ignores mind the tingly numbness in favor of combing two sets of hair with his fingers.

"We'll definitely make it work," Eren speaks softly, reassuringly. "And, hey, I can help out a little more. I know I'm not really reliable right now but—"

"No," Jean shakes his head. He blinks back whatever tears were on the precipice of falling and stares back at Eren. "I'd rather you not. I'll get that promotion eventually."

"Personally, I think being a party chef is overrated."

"Oh, my _God_."

Armin has to cover his mouth because he's laughing so hard and the walls are nowhere near soundproof. He's hunches over their two forms, barely catching what Jean is saying through his own suppressed laughter ("It's fucking _Chef de Partie_ , dumbass.") and Eren's wide smile like he's proud of himself.

"Christ, Eren, that was terrible," Armin says when he calms down.

"You and Jean laughed though. It was a good one, don't deny."

"I can't _believe_ I'm stuck with you losers. I kinda hate you guys."

"Shut up, you love us. Now gimme a kiss," Eren demands in a contradicting soft voice. He shifts his head in Armin's lap, pulls Jean close by his chin and slips his perma-chapped lips against Jean's with practiced ease.

The wet smacking sounds never fails to get Armin a little flustered, and it's even worst with the two of them resting on his numbing legs. He shakes their shoulders and is somewhat amazed at how red their lips already are; they look like they'd sting if Armin pressed a finger to them.

"My lap isn't actually a pillow, you dorks. My legs are going to sleep." He tries to mask his desperation with a vexed look. Neither seem to notice as they comply, separating on either side of him and allowing Armin to rest in the center.

"Hey, Armin. Come here," Jean slides a hand over his waist and pulls him closer, licking and sucking on his lower lip like the last drop of water on Earth is laying there and he hasn't had a drink in _days_. It's incessant and intoxicating and his soft lips aren't even properly on his own yet. Eren's calloused fingers are running through his blond hair, tracing a line over his neck, going over the shell of his ear, in several more places that Armin has a hard time concentration on with Jean pressed flush against him and slipping a leg in between his own—

Jean stops sudden, pulls away with an eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips. "Are you _hard_?" he asks, and Armin's cheeks turn a bright red color as Eren laughs breathily against his neck.

"No," he lies.

Jean brings a knee up, deliberately _rubs_ it against him. Armin turns his head and curses into the pillows as his boyfriends laugh at his expense.

"I thought we were supposed to be making Jean feel better," his muffled voice mutters in embarrassment. "You guys are so goddamn _mean_."

"I do feel better, thanks."

"Come on, Armin baby," Eren turns Armin’s head towards him, kisses his pink lips and smiles that irresistible lopsided grin. "Let's take care of you now."

 

It's near ten in morning with the sun filtering in through the cracks between the blinds when Armin wakes up. Jean's stirring beside him is what gets him to open his eyes and sit up. He's bleary-eyed, feels like he’s only been asleep for a few short minutes before now, like he hasn't actually gotten much sleep at all. He woke himself up earlier that morning, grabbed his phone and crept out of the room as quietly as he could because Jean is a light sleeper and the last person he'd want questioning his motives.

Jean yawns, places a hand over his mouth and sits up, letting the blanket fall away from his bare chest and spill around his hips and Eren's arms wound tight around him. There's little teeth shaped marks littering his skin in random places. Armin takes the time to admire how they stand out like beacons, and he wonders if those marks are mirrored along his own skin. They must be; Eren bites hard and Jean sucks until it hurts and Armin's skin bruises like a fragile, overripe apple.

Armin locks eyes with Jean and it takes a while to process in his still sleepy mind that Armin's up. He smiles, leans forward to kiss Armin's lips and mumbles, "Morning."

"Good morning," Armin hums.

"What time is it?" he asks. "You're not usually up so early on Saturday’s, right?"

It's still taking a bit for time for the sleep to completely drain from his system, and when it does, Armin anticipates full-on panic. So he says as calmly as he can, "It's ten."

Jean nods. "Oh. Right."

Armin slides his hand to the back of Jean's neck and massages the skin there, occasionally scratching at the line where skin stops and trimmed undercut starts. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Jean nods again. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Armin feels sort of bad for thinking that it's kind of amusing watching realization hit Jean. It's a slow trickle of oil to the rusted gears in his head. Then they start to move, and Jean's eyebrows furrow as he stares first at the window, then at the LED screen of the clock on the bedside table. "Shit," he whispers, as the gears turn faster. " _Shit_ ," he says louder as he eyes begin to widen.

Before he can raise his voice anymore and flung himself as well as Eren—because Eren's grip is unrelenting in his sleep and he's basically attached to Jean until he wakes up—off the bed, Armin runs a hand over his cheek. "Jean, calm down," he whispers as comfortingly as he can.

Jean's voice is slightly above a whisper, a weird breathy shout. "Armin, it's ten! Why didn't you wake me up sooner! I'm gonna be late, I'm—"

"—I called you in sick."

"You did _what_?"

"I called you in sick," Armin repeats with a smile. "I told them the mishap yesterday was because you were sick. It probably sounds dumb. Maybe they didn't fully believe that part, but that's not important. They want you to stay as far away from the kitchen as possible until you're one-hundred-percent better."

Jean is staring with his mouth slightly agape, dumbfounded, not sure how to react. "You...but what about..."

"I explained our situation to them. They're willing to pay leave until you get better within the next week. A paid vacation, I guess."

He doesn't say anything for a while. Armin begins to think that maybe it isn’t such a good plan, maybe Eren should have stopped him and said no, that's a bad idea, when Armin told him about it. Maybe Jean finds some sort of masochistic pleasure in working long hours in something he didn't even go to college for while he literally stands next to the future he aspires to achieve every single day he clocks in. That would be absurd though, nothing like Jean.

In that moment of quiet doubts and tense silence, Eren mumbles something in his sleep. It's incoherent gibberish, nothing that either of them can decipher. Then he smiles and squeezes Jean's middle. Maybe their conversation is falling to his ears, permeating his dreams; maybe it's his body's subliminal way of saying _it's okay_. Just accept it. Armin can practically hear Eren voice the words, crystal clear in his mind. _Just accept it._

"I can't believe you'd call in sick for me when I'm not even sick. Where the hell are your work ethics?" Jean grins. The dull, monochromatic tension melts away into sunny skies and brightness when Jean smiles, wide and sincere. It makes Armin's heart swell.

"I care more about your well-being," Armin smiles, biting on the corner of his lips. "Fuck work ethics, honestly."

Jean laughs, kissing the corner of Armin's mouth and leaves an _I love you_ there to sear and burn into his skin like the love bites all over his body.

"I love you too."

As noon hits and Eren begins to pull himself away from the clutches of sleep, Armin pulls open the blinds and lets the bright sunlight shine through. There's gross good morning kisses with lingering bad breath and promises of showers in a place that can barely hold two people, but they make it work. Armin idly remembers the cake mixes sitting in the cabinet and makes a mental note to convince Eren and Jean later that something sweet for breakfast every once in a while doesn't hurt, especially when it's made together.

(It's a complete disaster that end in shattered eggshells and flour all over their faces. But Jean, aspiring Sous-Chef, manages to salvage it. A small vanilla angel cake is shared between them that morning.)

 


End file.
